There's a strange phenomenon I've noticed in parenting that applies specifically to our firstborns. This shock and amazement in their progress. It's a pendulum swing of emotions between excitement and relief that they're growing and progressing while at the same time grief and mourning that they're growing and progressing. With our second and third-borns (and beyond), it seems less surprising because on some level, we expected it. We've experienced it, or something like it before. But I constantly find myself doing double takes, rubbing my eyes and blinking for greater clarity at my firstborn, as he grows and changes.
Because when he was born, my role as "mother" was born. So when he grows, it signals my growth. But I watched him for a whole day and here's what I wrote for him.
Let me tell you what I did for you today.
But also, what you did today too.
This morning, your alarm woke you up and you came out of your room on your own. You found me on the couch journaling and sipping hot coffee. I put them both down and welcomed you underneath my blanket so that you could finish waking up right next to me. I ran my fingernails through your hair and watched your chest rise up and down. Up and down. After a few minutes, you started wiping your nose on your arm, abruptly ending our couch cuddle-time. I ordered you to find a tissue and then wash your hands.
I got a breakable cereal bowl down from the high cabinets. You don’t use the little plastic ones anymore because they’re too small and you always needed seconds (or thirds). You got your own spoon and carried the half-full gallon of milk to the table, where you sat down and made yourself breakfast. You told me about your dream, and I listened, but I don’t remember it anymore.
You asked me the weather and I told you that it would be warm enough for short sleeves and shorts. You disappeared into your room for 10 minutes and came out without shoes on. I reminded you that you left them in the garage yesterday because they were wet from running through the parking lot in a rainstorm. You went and retrieved them.
I made your lunch while you brushed your teeth and combed your hair down. This past weekend, I gave you a haircut and three days later, I feel like I need to fix a couple of spots. Or maybe just cut it really short for summer. I still can’t decide. You don’t really care as long as I like it.
I cut an apple for your school snack. And then a second one for your little brothers snack. He always wakes up starving, so I left a few slices out for him, so he wouldn’t steal it from your snack container. You find all the things to put in your backpack and you ask me if you forgot anything. I say no. But you go back in your room one more time to be sure. There’s starting to be something else besides blind trust in my word when making your own decisions.
Then, you and your dad walked out the front door and I didn’t see you for seven and a half hours.
When I picked you up in the car line at school, you had a project in your hand to show me. You hand it to me and throw your backpack on the floor of the minivan as you push by your sister’s legs and give your baby brother a hug. I ask the usual questions about your day and you answer them all in short, non-descriptive ways. You comment that the drainage ditch at the end of our street is still full of water from yesterday’s rain storm. This is impressive to you. We stop by the mailbox on the way home and I hand you the key and open the trunk for you to jump out. I didn’t even watch you unlock the mailbox, remove the mail and close it up. Before I knew it, you were shoving mail in my face and asking if you could ride the rest of the way home with your head sticking out of the sun roof. Your sister unbuckles opportunistically to join in on your idea, and you inclusively made room for her.
At home, you completed your homework on your own and showed it to me for approval, and then played with your Legos. You asked for a snack and then another one. You got one out for each of your siblings too. You played outside and you’re so strong and fun. I realized how much I depend on you to watch your two-year-old brother, who insists on playing on the playset that is definitely too big for him. You ask to go see your friend next door, but I know they just left their house about 20 minutes before, while you were still doing your homework. They’d asked to see you too but you were still inside.
While I cooked dinner, you wrestled with your brother. I hollered once across the house to “make sure he was having fun”, since you’re five years older then he is. It was only laughter, and squeals and all kinds of other boy-ish type noises coming from your brothers room. Your sister helped me cook dinner, and it was a calm, relaxing kitchen until you two boys spilled out of the back room after your wrestling match. He followed you to your room where he knocked over your Legos and you gently led him out of your room in a way that made me want to learn self-control from you.
You asked for seconds after dinner, as usual. And since I was still eating, you got up yourself and served it onto your plate. You didn’t bring your plate to the sink when you finished, but neither did anyone else, since daddy was working late tonight. After I got the others ready for bed, I reminded you to shower and you did. I heard you singing in there, even though it was loud because you remembered to turn on the vent so the mirror wouldn’t fog up. You brushed your teeth without a reminder, but forgot to pick up your towel off your floor. You ran through the house naked once but hurried to get dressed after scolding me for not putting your brother in the right pajamas so you both could match.
I tucked you in last and sang your favorite songs. You prayed half-serious, half-silly prayers and reminded me to turn on your fan. You told me you love me the most and I said, I hope you love Jesus the most. Two seconds after I closed your door, you came out again for your water bottle. And then your door closed after I heard your raspy voice once more, “love you mom”.
Not too long ago, I was doing everything for you. Dressing you. Feeding you. Making your choices. Constant reminders.
And slowly, somehow, over the years, you’ve started taking the reins for yourself. And sometimes, I feel like you’re moving too slow. Sometimes, I see the weaknesses blaring and not the strengths shining through. I want you to know on your own FOR THE LOVE not to pee on the toilet seat and to take your towel back into the bathroom and hang it on the hook FOR CRYING OUTLOUD. But buddy, you’ve come a long way. You’ve been through a lot of ups and downs. Confusion and questions. Hopes and fears. And I suppose that’s true for every child. But your journey to now has required treading of deep waters. And right now, we feel like we’ve stepped back up on the banks.
You still need me for a lot of things. You’re mostly happy to still depend on me, even as we raise you and train you toward independence.
But one day….
One day, you won’t need me to do any of the things that I did for you today.
One day, you’ll live somewhere that I’m not. You’ll get your own mail and get your own breakable bowl out of the kitchen cabinet. You’ll pick up your towel (or not) and it will just be your own problem. And I think as moms, we naturally worry about those days. And we feel sad at the idea of it all. But there were moments in the not-too-distant past when I wondered if you would ever do those things. There will probably be more. But after today, writing out and recognizing the things that I did and didn’t do for you, I feel hopeful and encouraged. I see character within you and goodness in your heart.
So while I can, I’ll still do these things for you. But I’ll also be letting go. I’ll be backing myself down and building you up. I’ll be cheering for you...which I KNOW may sometimes sound like nagging. I get it. You’re still a boy and not yet a man. But the changeover is happening. It’s happening a little bit more every single day. And I’ve got all the emotions about it...fear, sadness, frustration but also excitement, relief, pride, anticipation, hope.
Since you're the firstborn, it will always be an adjustment for me to let go of your dependency on me. But I believe in you. I'm rooting for you. And I see every good thing there is in you.